


Seeking High-Energy Self-Starter, Flexible Schedule

by sanguinity



Category: Mой нежно любимый детектив | My Dearly Beloved Detective (1986)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: Jane Watson pops her nose in the famous door in Baker Street to apply for the position of Consulting Detective.
Relationships: Shirley Holmes & Jane Watson (My Dearly Beloved Detective), Shirley Holmes/Jane Watson (My Dearly Beloved Detective)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2019





	Seeking High-Energy Self-Starter, Flexible Schedule

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



The stiff manservant at the door, upon hearing the reason for Jane's inquiry, bade her come inside, whereupon he took down her information and showed her into a plain room furnished with a long table at which a man and woman sat, their heads bent together over a newspaper. "So you can see why I brought Inspector Lester in," Jane heard the woman say, her finger on an item in what looked to be the agony columns. Even from the door Jane could see that the item was heavily marked up, the ink from the man’s pen almost obliterating the print.

"And you were quite right to do so," he said with a hint of a soft, Scottish burr. "I wouldn't want you tackling that alone."

"A Miss Watson, here about the position," the manservant announced, and both lady and gentleman looked up. The man was a stocky, middle-aged fellow with small round spectacles and a carefully groomed moustache; his first and middle fingers were stained with ink, and he squinted at Jane in the doorway. The woman beside him wore a severe walking suit and an eccentrically plain soft cap, her blonde hair gathered up loosely beneath it. She would never be a great beauty, Jane thought, not with that long, hatchet-like face, and yet she was a striking, commanding woman, and Jane's gaze was drawn to her.

"Miss Watson, is it?" the man asked. "Have a seat, please." He gestured to the lone chair before the table, isolated in the centre of the room. There was no friendliness in his expression, only the impatient air of a man who had been much tried by his business that day and saw no end to it in sight. He folded the newspaper and laid it aside, then took some papers from the manservant's hand and read them over briefly.

The woman beside him lounged in her seat and watched Jane with basilisk eyes.

Jane gave the woman a jaunty smile and took the indicated seat.

The manservant situated himself in a chair by the door, a stenographer's pad on his knee.

At last the man at the table looked up.

"Miss Watson. Would you please begin by telling us why you're interested in the position of consulting detective?"

The manservant's pencil scratched on his sheet, taking down the question.

"Well…" Jane said.

In truth, applying for the position had been a lark, an excuse for Jane to pop her nose in the famous door in Baker Street and satisfy her curiosity about what lay inside. That the advertisement had been for a consulting detective — a consulting detective! in Baker Street! — had only piqued her sense of adventure. She had half-expected something theatrical and ridiculous inside, a mountebank's sideshow, not these two dry souls, as serious as bank examiners.

But to _say_ such a thing would never do.

"Well, I've admired Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson for ages — I avidly read the stories every month. He's so clever in his observations! And the cases people bring to him! I'm currently employed in a typing pool, and while it is a steady line of work — and I'm very grateful to my employers for the opportunity! — life is so much bigger than boilerplate and legalese, don't you think? I think I would enjoy trying my hand at detective work and seeing what the world has to offer."

To Jane's surprise, the interviewer's expression had become steadily sourer as her speech progressed.

"So you're here for adventure. Unfortunately, you'll be disappointed to learn that the actual cases that come to this door are commonplaces. No chasing of spectral hounds is actually required."

"And yet we _might_ chase spectral hounds, if spectral hounds are in the offing," the woman beside him drawled, removing an invisible bit of lint from her skirt.

Jane looked at her with interest. "Are _you_ a consulting detective, then?" she asked the woman. Jane hadn't dared hope when she knocked, but a woman consulting detective! "Would I be working with you?"

The woman leaned across the table with an expression of utmost gravity and extended a hand to Jane. "Shirley Holmes."

"Holmes!" Jane exclaimed in delight. "Are you really? How fortunate! And now you're looking for a Watson? _I'm_ a Watson!"

" _If_ you please," the man interrupted. "We're not looking for actors to play Holmes and Watson. We're looking for an assistant detective. Someone who is logical and scientifically-minded."

"Someone who is passionate, committed, observant, sensible, and who can be trained," Miss Holmes corrected him. "You won't find a second consulting detective. If there were two like me in London, you would have hired the other one."

"Please, Miss Holmes," the man protested. "I'm well-satisfied that you are more than qualified for the position."

Miss Holmes nodded. "Of course, forgive me. Please proceed with your questions."

 _"Thank_ you," he said peevishly. "I'm only choosing individuals to embody my work and ideals to the people of London."

"So you are," Miss Holmes soothed, more conciliatory than Sherlock Holmes ever would have been. But then, Sherlock Holmes had never had to kow-tow to an employer, and wasn't that a curious thought? "And I don't take that responsibility lightly. It is not a trivial undertaking to attempt to walk in the footsteps of Sherlock Holmes."

"Nor Dr Watson's," Jane volunteered, and they both turned to look at her. But Jane was not easily intimidated. "Oh, come now, Dr Watson is an extraordinary man in his own right. To be Sherlock Holmes' chosen boon companion? Not only his trusted friend and partner, but his only friend? Dr Watson is not an ordinary man, no matter how he portrays himself. That he persists in portraying himself as one — that he perhaps genuinely considers himself one! — is only proof of how rare a man he is."

Her interviewer — Mr Doyle himself, apparently — looked faintly surprised. "Most think he's rather stupid."

Jane firmly shook her head. "Sherlock Holmes is not so insecure that he needs to surround himself with stupid people to make himself look intelligent."

Mr Doyle nodded thoughtfully. "An excellent observation. And yet the point remains: the cases that come to this door are commonplaces, Miss Watson. I fear that you, with your craving for adventure, might be bored by them."

"Oh, commonplaces are perfectly acceptable to me," Jane assured them lightly. "The Mr Windibanks of the world are commonplace enough, I think you'll find, and yet I would very much enjoy giving them the horsewhippings they deserve."

Miss Holmes smiled at that, a hint of warmth defrosting her grave exterior, and an answering pleasure bloomed in Jane's chest.

"I see," Mr Doyle said drily. "And do you have much experience with horsewhipping a man? No? Baritsu? Boxing? Any form of hand-to-hand combat or self-defense?"

"I wield a wicked hatpin," Jane offered.

"I see," Mr Doyle said, unimpressed, and made a note.

"Firearms?" Miss Holmes asked, and Mr Doyle frowned.

"Oh! I do, actually!" Jane said. "I used to shoot when I was younger. Partridge, mostly. A fair shot, if I say so myself."

"Revolvers?"

Jane deflated again. "No, not as such."

Miss Holmes shrugged, unconcerned. "That can be taught."

"You know I'd rather you not deal in firearms at all," Mr Doyle said. "I would much rather, if a case came to such desperate straits, that you referred it to the police."

"Not all cases can be referred to the police," Miss Holmes answered crisply, and from Mr Doyle's sigh, Jane knew this was a longstanding dispute between them. Miss Holmes caught Jane's eye. _Men,_ her glance said, as clear as speaking, and Jane giggled.

"You should know, Miss Watson," Mr Doyle said, officious with discontent, "that notwithstanding the commonplaceness of the problems brought to this door, the position runs some real risk of personal harm. An encounter with a desperate swindler, perhaps, or a man who feels he can bully women."

"I'd like to see him try," Jane said, and was graced with another quiet smile from Miss Holmes.

"Just so long as you are aware of the risks of the position, Miss Watson, and willingly accept them."

"I think I should enjoy learning Baritsu," Jane said. Oh, to be a detective and scrap in the streets! And to do so at the side of this Miss Holmes! She thought she should like that very much.

"My own lessons with Mrs Garrud have been quite enlightening," Miss Holmes offered.

Mr Doyle glanced between them, then consulted his page. "What would you say is your greatest strength, Miss Watson?"

Jane smiled grimly; she hated questions like these. "Well, I'm a self-motivated, detail-oriented people person, and excellent at multi-tasking." From the looks they exchanged, neither of her interviewers seemed impressed with the answer. Even the stenographer in the corner seemed to be judging her.

"Indeed," Mr Doyle said, writing down her answer longhand, notwithstanding the steady scribing of the stenographer at the side of the room. He smoothed the waxed tips of his moustache. "And what would you say is your greatest weakness?"

"My…?"

"Greatest weakness, please."

Well, Jane knew a trick question when she heard it. What would Dr Watson say? Ah.

"I'm afraid I have a great compulsion to act, to rush in and do something. I daresay some causes might be better served by a level head, a little prudence, but when I see an injustice, there's nothing for it but to _do_ something about it."

"A woman of action, are you, Miss Watson?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And do you often find that inaction is the better course?"

"Oh, no, never inaction! Even when I blunder it all up, I'm glad I did something, at least! The world would be so much better if people simply tried, don't you think? It's more that I've been trying to learn to stop and _think_ before I rush in. The other day on the street, there was a young woman, only a girl really, who was being followed and harassed by a man, and I stepped in and gave him what for! Only it was quite the wrong thing to do — it was very late, and we were all alone in the fog — the only reason I was out myself was because I'd been kept late typing an important brief. I had to take out my hatpin in the end, and even then it required a constable to rescue us. It was only later that I realised that I should have pretended I knew her. Rushed up and called her Peggy and taken her by the arm and started prattling about how Henry and I had wondered where she had gotten off to, let's go fetch him now, he's just around the corner — like that. And then whisked her away in the fog to the nearest streetcar stop! That would have worked so much better, if only I'd stopped to think! But the itch to _do_ something, it's frightful, Mr Doyle."

"I'm sure it is, Miss Watson. I'm glad to hear it came out no worse."

"This need to rush in," Miss Holmes said. "Would you have stopped to take direction, if there had been a more prudent head present?"

"Oh, yes! I've never been what you’d call headstrong. Just eager. So long as we do _something,_ I'm quite happy to listen to a plan."

Miss Holmes nodded, satisfied, and sat back again.

Mr Doyle was busy writing again. After a moment he consulted his notes. "Please describe a time that you had a conflict with a coworker, and how you handled it."

Miss Holmes sniffed pointedly. "That's hardly necessary; I'm not so difficult a character as your creation."

"Heaven forfend," he agreed, "one hardly could be. A conflict with a coworker, if you please."

But Jane knew exactly what story she wanted to tell.

"There was the time that Miss Yablsley was filching lunches and other personal items from the cloakroom."

"Yes? Go on."

"Well, everyone thought it was Miss Froud, you know, which was very unfair of them. Just because Elizabeth is a bit strange and hasn't two pennies to scrape together doesn't mean that she's a thief. Miss Yabsley singled out Miss Froud and started a whisper campaign, and once she had _quite_ stirred up feeling against her, led a delegation to Mr Lawson to get her fired. Which wasn't very clever, _I_ don't think — if she had succeeded in ousting Miss Froud, who would she have pinned the thefts on then? Happily, I was able to prove to Mr Lawson's satisfaction that Miss Yabsley was the thief and got _her_ fired instead."

The tips of Mr Doyle's moustache twitched. "This coworker you had a conflict with, you had her fired."

"Why, yes! She deserved it, don't you think?" 

"I was rather expecting you to tell me a story of some petty interpersonal conflict, an annoying or difficult coworker, and how you compromised or otherwise calmed the waters."

"Oh." Jane considered that, then shrugged. "I get along with everyone."

"Except the Miss Yabsleys of the world," Mr Doyle commented, but he didn't seem especially displeased.

"How did you prove it was Miss Yabsley?" Miss Holmes asked.

"I paid careful attention to who was and wasn't at their typing tables and when, and was able to eliminate the rest of the typing pool. And it _must_ have been someone in the typing pool — when Miss Joseph had her mother's ring to be reset, the thief knew exactly which handbag to target! But that wasn't enough convince Mr Lawson — he was never particularly good with timetables, and so much of what I brought to him, I only had my own word for it. So I set up a trap for her." Jane leaned forward confidentially. "Dye in my bag. A particularly vivid carmine! She looked like she had butchered a pig!"

"Caught red-handed," Miss Holmes said. She turned to her fellow interviewer. "Come now, that must be poetic enough for you."

"It's resourceful, certainly," Mr Doyle grudgingly agreed. "But we still don't know if she can get along with you."

Miss Holmes shrugged carelessly. "I'm hardly a Miss Yabsley. I imagine I'll be fine."

Jane laughed.

"As long as you're satisfied; you're the one who will have to live with her." Mr Doyle turned back to Jane. "You will, of course, be available to reside here at 221B? I'm afraid this is a residential position only."

Jane glanced at Miss Holmes, and didn't even try to hide her delight. "That would be acceptable, yes."

"Excellent. Two more questions, and then we'll entertain whatever questions you have for us. What is the most difficult situation you ever had to face?"

Jane's enthusiasm drained away. "Professionally, you mean?"

"I'm afraid not, no."

Jane's hands twisted in her lap. "I'm sorry, but that's a very personal question."

"And you may decline to answer it, if you wish," Mr Doyle said, but Jane had the distinct impression that the interview would be at an end if she did. She looked to Miss Holmes for help.

Her eyes were not unkind. "Our clients, should you be offered the position, will be baring the most difficult circumstances of their own lives to us. It would behoove us to understand what they're trusting us with."

Jane lifted her chin. "And you answered this question?"

"I did."

Jane nodded once. "Well then. Until last year, my mother and I lived in Hertfordshire near the Essex border, with a woman who was like a relation to us. Mrs Hammond and her husband raised my mother when she was young, and after my father's death, my mother and I came to live with her, to be her companions in her old age. Father left us penniless, so we were quite reliant on her goodwill, and she had in fact promised us something in her will. So we were quite surprised to learn after her death that there was no will. The solicitor had been to the house several times, but he swore before a judge that no will had been made, that those visits had only been normal business transactions. And so in the end everything went to her nephew, Mr Caleb Wall. Which of course we didn't begrudge, he being her only living family! Only he was most unkind to us, and gave us very little time to make other accommodations before turning us out of the house. For a while, I was supporting us both with my typing, but then mother…"

Jane paused, not liking to revisit those memories.

"Now there's just me," she finished.

"I'm sorry for your misfortunes, Miss Watson," Mr Doyle said. "But it seems to me you showed great courage and perseverance in meeting them."

"Thank you. It's been a difficult year. But it may soon be turning a corner. It seems Mr Wall has had a change of heart, and has asked me to go see him tomorrow! I only wish Mother could have lived to see it."

"Tomorrow?" Miss Holmes asked, with more interest in her voice than seemed strictly warranted, and Mr Doyle turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. "Where and when tomorrow, by chance?"

Jane frowned. "Mrs Hammond's former residence, in Gilston. I'm taking the train in the morning."

"Not the 10:15 to Harlow?" Miss Holmes asked, sitting forward. At Jane's nod, she turned to Mr Doyle and tapped the newspaper that had been laid aside earlier. "We knew a woman of her description on that train would be targeted…" She abruptly cut herself off with a glance at Jane.

"No, you must tell me," Jane said, looking between them. "Targeted for what?"

"We're very much afraid, Miss Watson," said Mr Doyle, "that Mr Wall has had no change of heart at all, and rather hopes to remove you from the scene for good."

"Remove me?" Jane felt thoroughly bewildered.

"Perhaps I should explain," Miss Holmes said. "Mr Sherlock Holmes and I share a passion for the agony columns of the newspapers, and the various messages that are passed within them. For two weeks now… How long ago did Mr Wall first contact you?"

"Friday before last," Jane answered.

"And the first mention of the train was the following day. I really do fear Mr Wall means you no good. For two weeks, a pair of correspondents have been plotting the murder of a woman on tomorrow's 10:15 to Harlow. All in cipher, of course, but they've been verbose enough in their correspondence that I was able to crack the code. I informed Inspector Lester, and once he was convinced of the seriousness of the threat, he agreed to supply a police presence on that train. But without knowing _who_ on the train was targeted, we were rather hampered in our ability to act. Here, you can see the latest message yourself."

She opened the paper and folded it back to the correct page, turning it so that Jane could see the item that had been so marked up earlier, and Jane came forward to look. The item as originally printed was nonsense, a mishmash of highly improbable and nonsensical letters, but the words marked in above them in neat pen and ink were gravely concerning, and pointed more surely at Jane than even Miss Holmes could have known.

"But why would Mr Wall want me dead? I'm no threat to him — he already has everything, and I'm nobody, no relation at all. Unless… There is a will after all! There must be one, one in which mother and I inherit! Mr Bayles must have lied when he said there was no will, possibly in collusion with Mr Wall, in exchange for part of the inheritance. But their plan was a resounding success, so for Mr Wall to want me dead _now,_ after he has already won everything…" Jane looked up at Miss Holmes, who was watching her intently. "You don't think Mr Bayles turned on Mr Wall and has been blackmailing him, do you? Threatening to 'discover' and reveal the missing will unless Mr Wall continues to pay?"

"Excellent," Miss Holmes said. "That's very much what I fear is happening. Of course, it could be someone else who is targeted on tomorrow's 10:15, and we should make plans accordingly, just in case, but the coincidence of two women of your description on that train tomorrow, both arranging to meet with someone who has motive to want her dead, is enough to beggar belief."

"You seem to be taking this very well, Miss Watson," Mr Doyle said. His eyes were grave with concern.

Jane shook her head. "It gives meaning to the last year. But of course Mr Wall only moves now, now that Mother is dead. While there were two of us to inherit, he must bide his time and pay the blackmailer — two murders, mother and daughter, are much more noticeable than one. But with only me… Oh, I _must_ get on that train tomorrow."

"Are you sure, Miss Watson? That is hardly required," Mr Doyle said, but Miss Holmes nodded decisively.

"I hoped you would say that. It's the only way to be sure of catching Mr Wall's accomplice — a man we know almost nothing about — let alone put Caleb Wall's head in the noose. Until now, we were forced to simply have plainclothes policemen aboard and hope for the best, but now we have a much better chance of actually catching them. Will you come with me to Scotland Yard? We must notify Inspector Lester of the change in the situation immediately."

"Of course," Jane said, and went back to her chair for her bag.

"Are you sure this is a prudent course of action?" Mr Doyle asked.

"Better to act on these plans which by happy chance we already know, than to frustrate Mr Wall now and leave him to make a second attempt on her life later," Miss Holmes said.

"Well then. You will show every prudence in this matter, both of you, and act in complete coordination with Inspector Lester," Mr Doyle said, stern.

"I promise I won't rush in," Jane said. "I'll take no action until I've discussed it with Miss Holmes completely." She caught Miss Holmes' eye. "Isn't that so?"

"Indeed. Come along," Miss Holmes said, and then both she and Jane rushed out the door.

Mr Doyle was left in the room to bemusedly contemplate the typewritten sheet before him, covered with his handwritten notes evaluating the suitability of Miss Watson for the position of assistant detective.

There was only one question on his page remaining.

"Why would you say you're the best person for the position?" Mr Doyle asked the air.

Mr Green took down the question in a nicely competent Pitman's.

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the anonymous author of the Sexton Blake story "[Py Ponk](http://freeread.com.au/@RGLibrary/SextonBlake/1909/PyPonk.html)" for inspiration for the case.


End file.
